Slowly Dying
by Star-tama
Summary: A lonely alcoholic who's only outlet is a young nurse named Chun-Yan, Ivan is slowly finding himself dipping into insanity after people from recurring dreams start haunting his everyday thoughts.   Warning: Nyotalia, possible triggering topics


She ran her long, wrinkled fingers over her face. Her manicured fingernails ran over her high cheekbones, down the skin below it that curved inward, and past the sides of her scarlet-colored mouth, creating wrinkles under her fingernails. Her hand then traveled back up, until the skin between her index finger and thumb pressed against her nose.

Her legs crossed and she tapped her nails on the granite counter top, as her blue eyes continued to loiter on the sturdy-built man across from her. His shoulders drooped, his back hunched, and his head hung. His hand, clutching an empty bottle of vodka, tightened with every tap of the woman's fingernail. His thin, platinum-blonde hair that stuck to his head as if wet, shook whenever his large body shivered.

"Stop that," the man said suddenly, his head and hand both gesturing in the direction of her tapping fingernails.

"Nyet." Her voice came out slightly muffled, so she moved her hand down slightly. But she continued to use her free hand to tap on the counter nonetheless.

"I said stop."

"And I refuse."

"Then get me another bottle of vodka."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You don't need it."

"Then I'll get it."

"No you won't."

"..." The man looked up, his heavy brows furrowed and a scowled placed on his face. But the woman kept her ground, staring at him with little emotion, and soon enough he looked down again.

"What's your problem, anyway?" She pulled her hand away from her face, setting it on top of the one already on the counter and leaning against it, waiting for an answer.

He snickered, his body shaking as he did so. Did she honestly think that he would just spill out all his feelings to her, wondered the man as he responded. "I'm not ranting out my problems to you."

"Why not? Who the fuck else is here to listen?"

There was silence. He had to admit that she had a valid point, but he was much too stubborn to just give in. Sharing feelings is what little girls do at sleepovers. He was not a little girl, nor was this some stupid sleepover. He refused to act like it.

"Is it about your sisters?"

"..."

"That cute little Chinese girl?"

"..."

"Your alcohol problem?"

"It's not a problem."

"..." She stared at him for a moment, before slipping around the counter and draping an arm over his shoulders. Her head rested against his, her straight, light blonde hair falling over both of their backs. "You know that I am here for you, Ivan."

"..."

She glanced at his face, her fingers linking on the other side of him from the rest of her body. "You can tell me anything."

"Then I'm telling you to leave," he responded, looking down at the bottle of vodka. He twirled it around in his hands, pretending that he did not care that she was so close.

"That isn't nice," she told him, with a careless undertone in her words. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she watched as he twirled the bottle.

"Neither is your presence." He turned the bottle around, reading the ingredients. His tone had been equally as careless. Emotionless, even. She was an annoyance. She'd been an annoyance for some time. He wanted her gone. At least for now.

"Well then," she murmured with a small chuckle, pressing a kiss to his angular cheek. "Have it your way. As long as you promise me you'll stop talking to that American slut."

He was surprised by how easy it seemed to be, and he nodded his head vaguely, watching her grab the bottle and tug it out of his hands.

"Say hello to your little Chinese girlfriend for me."

Ivan's eyes opened, and morning's light poured in through the windows. He groaned, the stiffness of his body from a bad night's sleep slowly enveloping his body. He sat up with some difficulty and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, before slowly running his large hand over his face.

He pushed himself to the end of the bed and wiggled his toes as they reached the gray, stained carpet. His hand reached to his bedside table of driftwood, fumbling for the drawer. He opened it and groped around in it, before pulling out a few pills.

After screwing with the cap and eventually getting it open, he dropped a couple pills into his hand and gulped them down. Grabbing the cup of water sitting on the bedside table, he quickly chased the pills down with it.

When he lowered the empty bottle of water, he stared at the window and squinted slightly. Another boring day. He could feel it, weighing down his hunched back.


End file.
